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PETER   IN  THE   FIRELIGHT 


BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  SONG  OF  OUR  SYRIAN  GUEST 

THE  LOVE  WATCH 

SAINT  ABIGAIL  OF  THE  PINES 

THE  SIGNS  IN  THE  CHRISTMAS  FIRE 

THE  SHEPHERD  OF  JEBEL  NUR 

NO  ROOM  IN  THE  INN 

OUTSIDE  A  CITY  WALL 

THE  SONG  OF  OUR  SYRIAN  GUEST  (with  notes) 

PETER  IN  THE  FIRELIGHT 


PETER  STOOD  IN   THE  LIGHT  OK  THE  FIRE 


Peter  in  the  Firelight 


BY 


WILLIAM  ALLEN  KNIGHT 


AUTHOR   OF   "the   SONG   OF   OUR 
SYRIAN   GUEST,"    ETC. 


THE    PILGRIM    PRESS 

BOSTON         NEW   YORK  CHICAGO 

MCMXI 


Copyright,  igii 
By  William  Allen  Knight 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 
All  Rights  Reserved 


Published  October,  191 1 


THE  •  PLIMPTON  •  PRESS 

[  W  D-  O  ] 
NORWOOD  •  MASS  •  O  •  S  •  A 


FREDERICK  E.  EMRICH,  D.D. 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I    Memories   of   a   Mountain 

Lake 1 

II    The  Coming  OF  A  Stranger  .  11 

III  Leaving  the  Nets  .     ...  21 

IV  The  Fisherman  Comes  to  His 

Own 35 

V    A  Vision  Glorious.     ...  51 

VI    The  Night  OF  THE  Courtyard 

Fire 63 

VII    The  Fire  on  THE  Beach   .     .  85 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Peter  Stood  in  the   Light  of  the 
Fire Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

"  Fear  not,"  said  He,  "  from  Hence- 
forth Thou  shalt  catch  Men  "   .     30 

"Woman,  I  know  not  the  Man"   .     82 


[ix] 


I 

Memories  of  a  Mountain 
Lake 


'Now  this  lake  of  Genes areih  •  its  waters  are 
sweet  and  very  agreeable  for  drinking  •  the 
lake  is  also  purey  and  on  every  side  ends 
directly  at  the  shores  and  at  the  sand  • 
There  are  several  kinds  of  fish  in  it  differ- 
ent both  to  the  taste  and  the  sight  from  those 
elsewhere  •  The  country  also  that  lies  over 
against  this  lake  •  its  nature  is  wonderful 
as  well  as  its  beauty  •  one  may  call  this 
place  the  ambition  of  nature^ 

Flavius  Josephus 
{Born  37  A.D.) 


Peter  in  the  Firelight 
I 

MEMORIES  OF  A  MOUNTAIN 
LAKE 

WHAT  shall  I  write  more? 
Memories  still  throng  my 
head,  this  gray  old  head 
which  once  —  I  ever  hear  the  people 
say  it,  speaking  softly — once  leaned 
on  Jesus'  breast.  And  they  will  leave 
the  earth  with  me;  for  all  who  shared 
them  are  gone  —  and  I  —  I  am  John 
the  aged!  Yet  I  know  that  this  hand 
cannot  write  all;  my  gospel  is  near 
its  end. 

But  why  is  my  heart  so  wakened 
by  memories  of  Galilee?  Is  there 
aught  that  He  would  have  me  write 
yet  more — He  whose  tenderness  now 
lays  the  old-time  spell  upon  me? 

Ah,  now  I  bethink  me,  my  Master! 
There  is  one  memory  —  one  among 
the  many  yet  untold  —  which  Thou, 

[3] 


PETER     IN     THE     FIRELIGHT 

as  I  know  Thy  heart,  wouldst  have 
live  on  earth  forever.  It  is  of  that 
last  firelight  scene  by  the  lake,  and 
Peter. 

How  strange  that  none  has  told  of 
that!  They  who  are  gone,  the  three 
who  wrote  of  what  our  eyes  beheld, 
all  have  told  how  we  saw  Peter  in 
the  night  of  his  shame,  when  first 
he  stood  in  the  light  of  the  fire.  I 
myself  have  written  of  that,  also. 
Alas,  we  are  all  so  mindful  of  a 
brother's  fall,  so  heedless  of  our 
Master's  strong  gentleness  in  saving  I 

But  I  will  still  be  Peter's  friend 
—  I  who  gained  admittance  for  him 
to  the  palace  courtyard  where  that 
first  fire  was  burning  in  the  chill 
night.  Yes,  I  will  write  one  chapter 
more  and  finish  the  story;  for  two 
fires  must  shine  in  our  gospel,  and 
the  same  man  stand  in  the  light 
of  both. 

Fetch  me  the  pen,  good  Polycarp. 
Ah,  thou  art  listening  with  the  bright 
face  of  youth!     The  light  in  thine 

[4] 


A     MOUNTAIN     LAKE 

eyes  minds  me  of  the  days  when  I, 
too,  was  young  —  in  Gahlee. 

Come  nearer,  my  son.  He  whose 
wrinkled  hands  will  consecrate  thee 
Bishop  of  Smyrna  would  talk  with 
thee  of  his  old  friend  ere  he  writes 
the  last  words.  Hear  thou  the  story 
of  the  fisherman  who  stood  in  the 
light  of  two  fires  —  two,  my  son. 
It  will  make  sweet  sounds  withal 
for  thee  and  me,  as  when  a  rivulet 
runs  down  from  silent  hills. 

I  knew  Peter  from  the  begin- 
ning. How  well  do  I  remember 
those  early  days  by  the  lake  —  our 
bright  httle  sea  which  still  hes  deep  in 
the  hills  of  Gahlee.  My  father  was 
a  fisherman  there,  and  so  was  Peter. 
He  had  spent  his  days  and  nights  on 
those  waters  from  youth  up. 

When  I  was  still  scarce  more  than 
a  lad  he  was  known  to  gardeners 
and  vineyard  keepers  and  shepherds 
on  all  those  shores,  known  even  to 
the  swineherds  of  the  Gentiles  along 

[51 


PETER     IN     THE     FIRELIGHT 

the  Steeps  of  the  east  side.  For 
his  boat  had  often  been  within 
calling  distance  of  the  hills  that 
rise  round  about  everywhere.  Our 
lake  is  but  seven  miles  across  where 
it  is  widest,  barely  thirteen  in  length, 
and  it  so  narrows  southward  that 
men  say  its  waters,  often  rippled  and 
sounding  in  the  breeze,  look  hke  a 
harp.  So  the  fishers  were  wont  to 
spread  their  nets  for  drying  or  mend- 
ing anywhere  on  the  white  beaches. 

Peter's  bearded  face  was  often 
seen,  too,  at  the  wharves  of  villages 
and  httle  cities  alongshore;  for  he 
was  a  man  who  did  a  thriving 
business  as  fishing  goes.  He  had 
partners  —  at  length  the  sons  of 
Zebedee  his  fellow  fisherman,  my 
brother  James  and  me,  still  quick 
and  hot  with  youth.  So  I  knew 
Peter  welL     Everyone  did. 

Even    the    Roman    soldiers    who 

manned    the    fortresses    that   threw 

long  shadows  on  our  waters   knew 

him.     For    he    was    ever    bold    to 

[6] 


A     MOUNTAIN     LAKE 

speak  his  mind,  and  alien  warders 
irked  him  sore. 

His  home  was  up  the  more  flour- 
ishing west  side,  in  the  center  of 
business  northward;  first  in  the 
village  of  fisherfolk  called  Bethsaida, 
or  Fish-Home,  then  in  our  great 
town  Capernaum.  There  his  good 
wife,  whom  some  called  Perpetua, 
and  her  mother,  kept  his  house,  and 
watched  for  his  coming  when  he  had 
marketed  his  catch  or  wind  and 
weather  made  him  weary.  Even 
our  unresting  brother  Paul  took 
thought  of  Perpetua,  long  after  those 
days,  when  he  spoke  of  a  wife's 
comfort  such  as  Peter  had. 

There  was  a  daughter,  too,  in 
his  home  —  a  daughter,  as  every 
young  fisher  on  the  lake  would 
remember  at  sight  of  him.  I  was 
a  young  fisher  myself.  Of  her 
maiden  beauty  —  but  John  the  aged 
may  not  hnger  on  the  sweetness  of 
a  flower  that  faded  so  long  ago; 
albeit  the  pleasant  charms  of  youth 

[7] 


PETER     IN     THE     FIRELIGHT 

are  surely  of  God,  and  I  marvel  to 
hear  that  men  of  these  latter  days 
are  saying  —  what  is  it  they  say?  — 
that  the  daughter's  beauty  troubled 
her  father?  Ah,  they  never  knew 
Peter  the  fisherman  as  I  did! 

In  such  a  Hfe,  lowly  yet  having 
many  a  charm  withal,  the  years 
went  by  until  Simon  —  so  we  called 
him  then  —  was  a  weathered  water- 
man in  mid-hfe.  Quick  with  tongue 
or  hand  was  he,  as  everyone  knew, 
headstrong,  too,  yet  honest  as  the 
dayhght,  kind  of  heart  and  even 
humble  in  a  strong  man's  way. 
Some  feared  him;  some  smiled  at 
mention  of  him,  but  gave  heed 
when  he  approached;  we  who  were 
near  him  daily  loved  him.  But  his 
faults  were  hidden  from  none. 

A  day  came  when  Simon  went 
down  the  river  below  the  lake. 
Being  a  man  to  take  interest  in 
matters  beyond  his  daily  toil,  he 
wished  to  look  upon  certain  gather- 
ings far  down  the  Jordan's  rough 
[81 


A     MOUNTAIN     LAKE 

gorge,  of  which  word  had  come 
even  to  our  valley.  He  would  hear 
for  himself  a  voice  that  was  crying 
in  the  wilderness.  For  there  was 
disquiet  in  men's  minds  in  those 
days  —  our  gospel  had  its  begin- 
ning in  distresses  of  common  Hfe. 
Even  we  around  our  lake  among 
the  hills,  where  all  things  favored 
us,  sometimes  spoke  hot  words  when 
the  silence  of  tending  the  nets  was 
ended. 

"See  yon  glaring  town!"  said  we, 
pointing  to  the  hated  city  Tiberias, 
which  Herod  had  quickly  set  up  on 
our  west  shore  where  the  graves  of 
our  dead  once  were,  naming  it  for 
the  foreign  tyrant.  "See  those 
watching  fortresses,  and  yonder 
castle  above  our  own  waters!" 
Affairs  were  going  wrong  in  Israel. 

Down  the  Jordan  a  man  had 
appeared  who  dared  to  speak  the 
thoughts  of  many  hearts.  He 
warned  the  tyrant's  tax-gatherers 
for  their  extortion.     He  bade  soldiers 

[9] 


PETER     IN     THE     FIRELIGHT 

beware  of  violence  and  plunder. 
He  admonished  proud  dwellers  in 
Jerusalem  against  hardness  of  heart 
—  men  of  our  own  people  who  were 
lording  it  over  the  poor  and  needy. 
**He  that  hath  two  coats,"  said  he, 
**Iet  him  impart  to  him  that  hath 
none;  and  he  that  hath  food,  let 
him  do  hkewise."  Best  of  all,  he 
proclaimed  a  dehverer  whose  coming 
was  near. 

Simon  the  fisherman  went  down 
the  river  to  hear  a  voice  hke  that. 
We  on  the  lake  were  of  those  who 
beheved  that  the  day  of  our  God 
would  come  and  his  Messiah  yet 
be  seen  among  us.  I  had  gone 
before  Simon;  for  I  was  young  and 
delayed  not.  And  among  the  first 
words  which  I  heard  the  man  of 
the  wilderness  utter  were  these: 
"He  that  cometh  after  me  is  mightier 
than  I ;  he  will  gather  his  wheat  into 
the  garner,  but  the  chaff  he  will 
burn  with  unquenchable  fire."  And 
I  marveled  greatly  at  those  words. 

[10] 


II 


The  Coming  of  a  Stranger 


"  The  ideal  life  is  in  our  blood,  and  never 
will  be  still  •  We  feel  the  thing  we 
ought  to  be  beating  beneath  the  thing  we 
are  •  When  we  see  Christ,  it  is  as  if 
a  new  live  plant  out  of  the  southern 
soil  were  brought  suddenly  in  among  its 
poor,  stunted,  transplanted  brethren,  and, 
blossoming  in  their  sight,  interpreted  to 
each  of  them  the  restlessness  and  dis- 
content which  was  in  each  of  their  poor 
hearts'^ 

Phillips  Brooks 


II 

THE   COMING   OF  A 
STRANGER 

HOW  clear  is  the  memory  of  a 
day  in  early  spring  when  I 
saw  Simon  striding  through 
the  crowd!     Was  it  sixty  years  ago? 

For  days  before  I  had  watched 
men  coming  from  near  and  far. 
Even  in  that  wilderness  the  river 
banks  had  been  thronged  until  the 
grass  and  bushes  were  trampled  in 
the  moist  ground.  Back  from  the 
stream  many  a  dim  line  of  smoke 
was  rising  from  smoldering  fires  built 
by  groups  of  sojourners.  I  remember 
what  pictures  shone  out  in  the  dark 
around  them  each  night. 

By  day  we  all  gathered  to  hear  a 
man  who  stood  at  the  water's  edge 
uttering  bold  words.  He  wore  a 
rough  camel's-hair  covering  bound 
by  a  leathern  girdle;  his  food  was 
wild  honey  and  the  meat  of  locusts 

[13] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

which  leap  in  plenty  on  the  rocky 
places  and  the  sands  thereabout. 
But  his  voice  was  sweet  to  troubled 
men  hke  us,  it  was  so  brave  and  hope- 
ful.    And  his  name  was  John. 

Some  scoffed.  But  men  who  be- 
lieved him  true  waded  into  the 
stream  and  received  his  baptism 
before  all  eyes  in  token  of  penitence. 
I  was  one  of  those  who  took  this 
sign  of  a  follower. 

By  and  by  a  quiet  stranger  came 
through  the  crowd  and  stepped  into 
the  water.  He,  too,  was  young, 
and  from  Gahlee,  as  all  could  see. 
We  Gahleans  were  somehow  known 
at  sight.  But  there  was  something 
in  the  presence  of  the  newcomer  that 
made  men  gaze.  A  hush  fell  on 
the  multitude. 

Presently,  in  the  silence  we  heard 
John  talking  with  the  stranger. 
There  seemed  to  be  hesitation  about 
baptizing  him.  We  heard  the  un- 
known voice;  it  was  calm  and  a 
marvel     of     sweetness.     When      it 

[14] 


COMING      OF      A      STRANGER 

ceased  speaking,  the  stranger  was 
baptized.  And  we  knew  by  all  we 
saw  that  the  man  of  the  wilderness 
had  met  his  Master  at  last. 

That  night  we  slept  in  the  open 
not  far  from  the  river's  willows. 
Though  it  was  early  springtime  the 
warm  days  had  brought  forth  much 
grass  and  filled  the  air  with  the 
fragrance  of  numberless  wildflowers. 
The  cliffs  that  stand  back  from  the 
river  gave  the  valley  not  a  little 
shelter  from  wind,  but  the  nights 
were  quickly  cold  and  we  wrapped 
our  blankets  close  about  us. 

Before  sleep  came  we  heard  some 
wild  creature,  surprised  at  sight  of  us 
in  its  prowling,  start  with  a  hoarse 
grunt  and  rush  into  the  bushes. 
For  a  moment  or  two  we  could 
follow  the  way  it  took,  listening  to 
the  sound  of  its  crashing  through  the 
thicket  and  watching  the  shaking 
reeds  in  the  moonlight.  Then,  while 
we  lay  awake,  we  talked  of  the  stran- 
ger and  longed  for  the  morrow. 

[151 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

In  the  morning  John  spoke  like 
a  man  who  had  found  a  great  joy. 
"In  the  midst  of  you,"  said  he, 
"standeth  one  whom  ye  know  not, 
the  latchet  of  whose  shoe  I  am  not 
worthy  to  unloose." 

When  the  stranger  appeared  again, 
John  saw  him  coming.  Then  he 
uttered  marvelous  words.  I  feel  the 
thrill  of  that  moment  to  this  far 
hour;  even  now  I  hear  the  ring  of 
gladness  in  his  voice.  "Behold,"  he 
cried,  *'  behold,  the  Lamb  of  God,  that 
taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world!" 

While  we  stood  gazing  and  the 
stranger  drew  near,  our  happy  master 
declared  that  this  was  he  of  whom 
he  had  told  us.  That  was  a  great 
moment  for  us  who  had  believed 
the  man  of  the  wilderness! 

Simon's  brother,  Andrew,  was 
there  with  me.  The  next  day  we 
two  were  standing  near  our  master, 
being  young  and  quick  to  love;  and 
together  we  were  watching  the 
stranger.  "Behold,  the  Lamb  of 
[i6] 


COMING     OF     A     STRANGER 

God!"  said  he,  speaking  as  if  to  en- 
courage what  he  saw  in  our  hearts. 

Then  Andrew  and  I  followed  the 
stranger  until  he  noticed  us  and 
bade  us  come  with  him.  So  we 
two  were  in  his  presence  alone  till 
that  day  closed. 

What  did  he  say  to  us  then? 
Ah,  I  have  told  many  memories, 
but  the  memory  of  those  hours  I 
have  never  tried  to  word.  He  him- 
self, many  times  afterward,  taught 
us  to  hold  some  things  in  the  shelter 
of  silence.  Even  so  the  springs  that 
fill  Hfe's  stream  are  kept  unsullied. 

Meanwhile  Simon  had  come. 
Andrew  soon  found  his  brother  and 
told  him  of  our  friend,  the  stranger. 
I  knew  what  the  good  Andrew  had 
done  as  soon  as  I  caught  sight  of 
Simon.  He  was  striding  along  be- 
side his  brother  in  his  ever-headlong 
way.  I  watched  the  sight,  for  I 
loved  this  man  and  was  eager  to 
see  what  would  happen,  knowing 
him  so  well. 

[17] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

Andrew  brought  his  brother  to 
our  friend.  Simon  stopped  before 
him  and  stood  wonderingly.  I  had 
never  seen  our  Simon  awed  before 
any  man  until  then.  The  Nazarene 
received  his  gaze  in  quiet;  presently 
he  smiled  in  a  kind  way  which  I 
had  noticed  before. 

"Thou  art  Simon,  the  son  of 
Jonas,'*  his  low  voice  sounded; 
*'thou  shalt  be  called  Petros.*' 

Now  that  word,  in  the  language 
which  we  fishermen  had  learned 
from  men  who  did  business  in  the 
towns  around  our  lake,  means  a  rock. 
We  knew  not  what  to  make  of  such 
a  saying,  knowing  our  changeful 
Simon  so  well;  neither  did  Simon. 
He  startled,  then  stood  in  silence 
with  deeper  wonder  in  his  face. 
That  was  one  of  the  few  times  in 
those  days  when  we  ever  saw  Simon 
hold  his  peace.  He  answered  not 
a  word. 

At  length  he  turned  and  walked 
aside.  His  head  was  bowed  —  a 
[i81 


COMING     OF     A     STRANGER 

noble  head  was  Simon's!  His  face 
had  a  look  as  if  he  were  musing, 
**  I  am  Simon  —  and  I  shall  be  — 
shall  be  —  a  rock!'* 

Not  long  after,  Simon  was  back 
with  his  boat.  But,  busy  man  that 
he  always  was,  he  ceased  not  to 
ponder  that  saying.  For  his  heart 
was  great  with  stirrings  which  an- 
swered to  the  strange  words,  though 
he  knew  not  what  they  meant. 
At  last  he  told  Perpetua  about  it 
all.  When  he  let  me  know  of  that, 
morning  sunshine  was  lighting  lake 
and  hills  all  round  our  boats.  What 
she  said  Simon  kept  as  between 
man  and  wife.  But  his  face  was 
like  our  dear  valley  in  its  shining. 

How  strange  that  Perpetuas  can 
ever  be  so  hopeful! 


[19] 


Ill 

Leaving  the  Nets 


In  simple  trust  like  theirs  who  heardy 

Beside  the  Syrian  sea, 
The  gracious  calling  of  the  Lord, 
Let  us  like  them  without  a  word 

Rise  up  and  follow  Thee" 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


Ill 

LEAVING    THE   NETS 

SOON  a  day  came  that  changed 
everything  for  us.  We  had 
gone  out  in  the  boats  the 
night  before  as  we  were  wont  to 
do.  I  can  see  even  now  the  boat- 
lamps  flickering  in  the  dark  and  the 
forms  of  toiling  men;  I  remember 
.how  the  morning  star  ghttered  and 
the  gleam  at  daybreak.  But  for  all 
our  toihng  we  took  nothing,  and 
morning  brought  no  cheer  for  us. 

Simon  was  never  ready  to  quit  fish- 
ing with  an  empty  boat,  and  though 
the  sun  was  at  last  shining  high 
above  the  hills  of  the  Gadarene 
shore,  he  and  Andrew  were  casting 
their  net  again,  wearily  trying  their 
fisherman*s  luck  once  more.  James 
and  I,  in  the  boat  with  our  old 
father,  were  out  of  heart  and  had 
gone  to  mending  our  nets. 

The  landsfolk  were  all  astir  along- 

[23] 


PETER     IN     THE     FIRELIGHT 

shore.  Presently  we  heard  a  voice 
call  from  the  beach.  All  sounds 
carry  far  in  the  clear  air  over  our 
lake  shut  in  by  the  hills,  and  even 
a  peasant's  shout  is  turned  to  music. 
But  there  was  such  mellow  quiet  in 
the  voice  sounding  across  the  water 
that  we  sat  looking  shoreward  won- 
dering who  the  man  might  be.  We 
saw  him  beckon  to  Simon's  boat, 
which  was  near  the  shore  where  a 
great  spring  pours  into  the  lake  and 
fish  are  apt  to  run  in  shoals. 

"Come,  follow  me,"  we  heard 
the  voice  call,  "and  I  will  make  you 
fishers  of  men." 

That  was  a  strange  word  to  hear 
on  our  waters.  We  watched  Simon's 
boat.  Straightway  both  men  took 
in  their  net  and  started  for  shore. 
Then  we  saw  them  walking  with  the 
stranger  along  the  beach.  When 
they  were  opposite  where  our  boat 
lay,  the  man  called  to  us  also,  and 
Simon  beckoned.  It  was  easy  to 
see  that  his  eagerness  was  up  and 
[24] 


LEAVING     THE      NETS 

as  usual  would  brook  no  delay.  We 
took  oars  and  began  to  row  in, 
looking  over  our  shoulders  as  we 
went.  For  we  marveled  at  Simon's 
beckoning  still. 

Before  long  I  said  to  James,  "Can 
it  be  He  whom  we  saw  down  the 
river  —  the  Man  of  Nazareth?  "  We 
had  gone  with  him  when  he  left 
the  Jordan  for  a  time,  and  he  was 
ever  in  our  hearts.  James  only 
pulled  his  oar  with  stronger  stroke, 
still  looking  over  his  shoulder.  When 
our  boat  touched  shore  sand  we  left 
our  father  and  waded  to  the  beach. 

It  pleased  us  to  watch  how  the 
Nazarene  set  his  heart  on  Simon 
forthwith.  Soon  the  people  gathered 
about  us  to  listen.  He  talked  of 
the  kingdom  of  heaven  as  John  did, 
but  there  was  no  strain  of  words  and 
no  fevered  tones  were  in  his  voice. 
He,  too,  bade  us  repent,  but  it  was 
always  because  of  God's  care  for  us 
all  and  how  blessed  it  is  to  live  with 
that  ruling  our  minds.     His  words 

[25] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

were  so  simple  and  near  to  our 
daily  life  that  all  who  stopped  to 
listen  lingered.  By  and  by  they  so 
pressed  upon  him  that  he  could  not 
be  seen  or  even  heard  by  the  multi- 
tude. Then  it  was  that  he  showed 
his  discernment  of  Simon's  worth. 

I  saw  him  turn  once  and  again 
and  look  at  our  two  boats.  Pres- 
ently he  entered  one  of  them.  It 
was  Simon's!  He  seemed  to  mind 
well  whose  boat  it  was,  for  his  eyes 
scanned  the  crowd  until  they  found 
Simon.  **Put  out  a  little  from  the 
land,"  said  he;  and  his  tone  was  as 
when  a  man  speaks  to  a  friend. 

Simon  quickly  loosed  the  tether 
and  pushed  off.  I  heard  them  talk- 
ing low  together  as  the  boat  ghded 
away  from  the  beach.  Simon  took 
an  oar  and  dropped  down  astern  to 
hold  the  bow  inshore.  Then  the 
Nazarene  sat  with  a  happy  face  and 
went  on  talking  to  the  people. 

How  often  I  remembered  that 
scene  in  the  years  which  followed! 

[26] 


LEAVING      THE      NETS 

How  often  its  quiet  beauty  seemed 
like  some  vision  in  a  dream  —  our 
Simon  holding  his  boat  that  the 
Master  might  be  heard  and  seen! 
I  recall  even  now  that  I  chanced  to 
catch  sight  of  Perpetua's  face  in 
the  crowd.  It  was  all  agleam  with  a 
wife's  Joy  as  she  watched  her  Simon. 
But  little  did  any  of  us  think  then 
that  he  was  soon  to  do  the  like  when 
the  world  should  wait  to  hear  that 
voice  —  the  world  instead  of  the 
little  throng  beside  our  lake!  Yet, 
alas,  there  came  many  a  time  when 
Simon  started  up  and  rocked  the 
boat  not  a  little,  before  all  was 
over! 

Still,  through  all,  the  Nazarene 
never  ceased  to  think  fondly  of 
him.  That  very  day,  as  soon  as  he 
finished  speaking  to  the  people,  he 
turned  to  Simon  and  asked  him  to 
put  out  into  deep  water  and  let 
down  his  nets  for  a  draught.  There 
was  a  ripple  of  pleasure  along  the 
beach  at  those  words,   for  all  who 

[27] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

knew  Simon  understood  what  a  man 
he  was  for  deep-water  fishing.  We 
heard  him  answer  that  he  and  his 
partners  had  been  out  all  night  and 
taken  not  a  thing.  "But,"  he  went 
on,  "at  Thy  word  I  will  let  down 
the  nets."  That  was  a  wondrous 
thing  for  our  Simon  to  say!  I  could 
scarce  keep  my  delight  silent. 

Perpetua  smiled  in  happy  sur- 
prise at  the  sound  of  her  husband's 
voice  in  such  words;  and  Simon's 
daughter  clapped  her  young  hands 
for  gladness  as  her  father  brought 
his  boat  about.  James  and  I,  being 
partners,  took  our  boat  and  followed 
them. 

There  was  a  soft  breeze  blowing, 
I  remember,  and  mid-day  sunshine 
flooded  the  stillness  that  covered 
lake  and  hills.  We  knew  that  the 
Master's  purpose  had  to  do  with 
Simon,  so  we  lay  off  a  little.  We 
saw  him  cast  the  net.  Then  he 
stood  waiting,  watching. 

Even  to  this  day  the  sense  of  the 

[28] 


LEAVING     THE      NETS 

silence  on  Galilee  when  nets  had 
gone  down  and  we  waited,  with  the 
hills  rising  around  our  glistening 
waters,  is  sweet  to  me.  But  of  all 
those  memories  none  comes  over 
the  years  hke  the  silence  when  we 
watched  Simon  standing  by  his  nets 
that  day. 

By  and  by  we  saw  him  move 
hurriedly  along  the  boat,  peering 
into  the  water;  soon  he  began  haul- 
ing up  the  net  with  even  more 
eagerness  than  common.  We  could 
see  that  they  had  taken  a  great 
catch.  Still  holding  the  net  taut,  he 
beckoned  to  us.  We  quickly  came 
alongside,  and  together  we  took  in 
such  a  haul  of  fish  that  we  were  all 
amazed  —  even  we  who  were  used 
to  those  abounding  waters. 

Then  Simon  —  ever  a  child  at 
heart  for  all  he  was  so  manful  — 
dropped  on  his  knees  among  the 
fish  and  cried,  "Depart  from  me, 
for  I  am  a  sinful  man,  O  Lord!" 

How  like  him  it  was  to  do  even 

[29] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

so!  He  was  the  most  genuine  of 
men;  many  a  fault  had  he,  but  the 
grace  to  feel  it  as  truly  as  any  man 
could  was  always  his,  and  he  was  ever 
foremost  in  honoring  the  faultless 
One! 

The  Master  looked  on  the  kneel- 
ing fisherman  with  such  a  light  in 
his  eyes  as  only  love  can  make. 
"Fear  not,"  said  he;  "from  hence- 
forth thou  shalt  catch  men." 

While  we  brought  the  laden  boats 
to  land,  how  our  hearts  burned 
within  us!  That  was  the  end  of  our 
fishing  for  many  a  day. 

But  we  did  not  miss  our  old 
employment  or  even  think  of  it 
when  weather  signs  were  right  for 
fishing,  we  were  so  taken  up  with 
the  teacher  from  Nazareth.  He 
seemed  to  know  our  daily  life  as 
well  as  we  ourselves  did,  and  unseen 
meanings  showed  out  in  common 
things  to  his  eyes.  We  saw  them 
at  once  when  he  spoke,  though  he 
talked  of  fishing  and  flocks,  of  grain 

[30] 


LEAVING      THE      NETS 

fields  and  flowers,  and  the  simplest 
things  of  home  life. 

It  was  wonderful  to  hear  him  talk 
of  God  as  our  heavenly  Father. 
He  showed  us  the  Father's  ways  in 
plain  sight  all  about  us. 

Besides  that,  he  had  such  pity 
for  all  sufferers  and  such  strange 
power  to  relieve  them  by  his  voice 
or  touch  that  he  started  a  joy  along 
that  shore  which  no  man  had  seen 
the  like  of  before.  We  were  happy 
men  and  thought  no  more  of  fishing. 

Soon  the  Sabbath  came.  In  the 
hush  which  it  brought,  there  amid 
guarding  hiHs,  all  were  going  through 
the  sunshine  in  Capernaum's  streets 
to  the  synagogue.  Thither  the 
Nazarene  went  also.  Amid  the 
throng  was  a  man  possessed  who 
made  a  disturbance,  crying  out  con- 
cerning our  Master.  He  spoke  to 
him  and  the  man  ceased  his  writhing, 
being  healed.  What  a  Sabbath  that 
was  in  Capernaum! 

But    even    such    a    day    did    not 

[31] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

cause  the  Master  to  cease  thinking 
of  Simon.  When  at  last  he  left 
the  multitude  at  the  synagogue,  to 
Simon's  house  he  went. 

Now  Perpetua's  mother  was  lying 
in  a  great  fever.  Soon  they  told 
the  Master.  He  went  where  she 
lay  and  stood  over  her,  touching 
her  hand  gently  and  speaking  in 
tones  strangely  quieting.  Before 
long  the  fever  was  gone,  and  she 
arose  to  minister  to  us  with  the  good 
Perpetua. 

But  while  the  Sabbath  sun  was 
setting,  the  people  gathered  all  round 
the  door  of  Simon's  house,  bringing 
their  sick  and  afflicted.  I  recall 
the  scene  as  if  it  were  yesterday, 
how  the  young  prophet  from 
Nazareth  stood  amid  the  throng, 
out  in  the  evening  light,  laying  his 
hand  on  one,  speaking  low  and 
tender  words  to  another,  until  the 
night  closed  around  the  mass  of 
upraised  faces  and  the  stars  were 
shining  in  the  lake. 

[32] 


LEAVING     THE     NETS 

The  people  of  Capernaum  slept 
that  night  with  glowings  of  peace 
lighting  their  dreams.  But  in  no 
house  where  loved  ones  freed  from 
pain  were  sleeping  was  there  glad- 
ness like  that  in  Simon's;  for  the 
Master  himself  was  sleeping  there. 


[33 


IV 

The  Fisherman  Comes  to 
His  Own 


^  Jesus  who  •  alone  art  benignant  and  not 
haughty  •  alone  a  Saviour  and  just; 
Thou  who  always  seest  what  helongeth  to 
all  •  who  with  Thy  gifts  and  Thy  com- 
passion coverest  those  that  hope  in  Thee  • 
who  hast  made  our  solitary  and  wild 
nature  salutary  and  reposeful  •  who  didst 
rescue  me  from  the  phantasy  of  the  passing 
moment  and  guard  me  unto  that  which 
ahideth  forever!^^ 

Acta  Johannis 

{Second  Century  A.D.) 


IV 

THE  FISHERMAN  COMES   TO 
HIS   OWN 

THE  next  morning  when 
we  came  to  Simon's  house 
his  guest  had  gone.  I  re- 
member how  empty  the  morning's 
beauty  seemed  as  we  said  one  to 
another,  *'He  is  not  here."  He  had 
risen  at  daybreak,  Simon  told  us, 
and  had  gone  out  alone.  But  Per- 
petua  had  watched  the  way  he 
took,  and  soon  her  good  man  was 
leading  us  thither. 

As  we  hurried  westward  along 
our  north  shore,  the  little  plain  of 
Gennesaret  opened  before  us  circling 
the  lake  with  its  flowering  crescent. 
Beyond  its  bright  expanse  rose  the 
highlands  on  the  way  to  Nazareth. 
We  were  questioning  whether  he 
could  have  set  out  for  his  home. 
But  when  we  neared  the  bluffs  that 
wall  the   further  side  of  the  plain 

[37] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

behind  Magdala,  we  saw  him  sitting 
in  quiet  on  a  lone  slope. 

Morning  around  our  lake  is  a 
time  of  surpassing  sweetness  in  the 
months  of  spring.  The  hills  are 
covered  with  endless  green  and 
tinted  with  many  hues  by  reason 
of  the  red  soil  showing  out  in  plowed 
patches  everywhere  and  numberless 
masses  of  wildflowers  and  many 
grazing  flocks  and  herds.  The  lake 
lies  nestled  among  the  hills  like  a 
httle  child  of  the  sky  waking  and 
watched  by  its  mother.  The  air  is 
of  a  fragrant  pureness,  and  snowy 
Hermon  lifts  its  glistening  white 
form  like  some  heavenly  presence 
beholding  our  valley.  We  did  not 
wonder  that  our  Master,  whose  eyes 
could  see  beauty  beyond  our  sight 
in  common  things,  had  sought  a 
morning  hour  in  quiet  amid  such 
charms. 

But  when  we  came  near  and 
looked  upon  his  face,  we  saw  that 
it  shone  with  light  fairer  than  the 

[38] 


COMES     TO     HIS     OWN 

morning's.  We  understood  why  it 
was  so,  needing  no  words;  for  he 
made  us  feel  that  God  is  light. 
Many  a  time  afterward  we  saw  his 
countenance  shining  with  peaceful 
cheer  when  the  day  began,  even 
as  we  beheld  it  for  the  first  time 
that  morning.  Oh,  my  Master,  I 
would  see  Thy  face!  Of  all  who 
followed  Thee  I  only  wait  till  Thou 
shalt  call,  and  I  shall  see  Thy  face! 

When  he  had  received  us  with  the 
welcome  he  always  gave,  "Let  us  go 
into  the  next  towns,"  said  he,  "that  I 
may  tell  good  tidings  there  also."  So 
we  left  our  lake  behind.  And  ever  as 
we  went  our  eyes  were  opened  more 
and  more  to  the  Master's  grace  of 
word  and  Hfe. 

Time  and  again  he  returned  to 
our  home  shore.  He  seemed  to 
love  the  lakeside  even  as  we  our- 
selves did.  I  have  never  ceased  to 
cherish  the  memory  of  the  company 
from  the  lake  which  followed  him 
when  he  went  out  thence. 

[39] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

It  seemed  strange  at  first  that 
such  as  we  should  be  together  — 
fishermen,  and  a  tax-gatherer  from 
Capernaum  whom  we  had  hated, 
and  the  wife  of  Herod's  steward 
from  wicked  Tiberias  down  the  west 
shore,  and  Mary  of  Magdala,  and 
the  rest.  But  our  love  for  the 
Master  soon  made  us  friends. 

Strangest  of  all  seemed  the  wel- 
come he  gave  the  women;  for  none 
had  ever  seen  such  trust  in  woman- 
hood, such  unfearing  purity  of  atten- 
tion. The  world  will  more  and  more 
recall  what  he  did  for  us  men  whom 
he  made  apostles  of  his  love;  but 
will  it  learn  to  understand  what  he 
did  for  those  women  from  our  lake? 
Will  it  open  the  paths  of  the  spirit 
to  women,  as  he  did? 

My  own  mother  was  one  of  those 
lakeside  women  who  ministered  to 
him  wherever  he  went  —  Salome, 
name  of  what  hallowed  memory! 
And  this  they  did  to  the  last.  For 
it  was  they  who  went  to  the  tomb 
[40] 


COMES     TO     HIS     OWN 

with  the  spices  which  their  hands 
had  prepared  for  anointing  his  body. 
Ah,  even  so  it  was  they  who  were  first 
to  hear  the  words,  "He  is  risen." 

Mary  of  Magdala  was  chief  among 
these  women.  Even  Joanna,  though 
she  was  wife  to  the  king's  steward, 
did  not  equal  her  in  the  place  she 
filled,  so  abounding  was  Mary's  skilL 
Her  townsfolk  were  rich  in  the  things 
of  this  world  because  of  the  many 
fabrics  there  made  and  the  dye-works 
by  their  crystal  brooks.  They  pros- 
pered, too,  by  reason  of  their  great 
traffic  in  turtle-doves  and  pigeons  for 
the  purification  rites  in  the  Temple  at 
Jerusalem.  So  Mary  had  means  and 
acquaintance  even  about  the  Holy 
City  itself  as  none  other  had;  and 
these  she  used  in  the  service  of  the 
Master,  the  wealth  of  womanhood  in 
her  breast  yielding  love  that  was  won- 
derful. For  she  had  been  grievously 
afflicted  and  he  had  set  her  free. 
Alas  that  men  should  think  of  im- 
purity when  they  speak  the  name 

[41] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

of  such  a  woman  as  Mary  Mag- 
dalene! 

Yet,  loving  us  all  as  he  did, 
Simon  was  ever  foremost  in  our 
Master's  hopes  concerning  us.  He 
was  sure  to  see  his  faults  even  with 
quicker  sight  than  we  who  knew 
them  so  well;  and  he  never  spared 
rebuke.  But  he  seemed  always  to 
see  the  rock-nature  in  him,  never 
losing  his  confidence  that  it  would 
show  out  at  last  from  all  the  surging. 

It  comes  back  to  me  now,  that 
night  of  the  storm  on  the  lake  and 
Simon's  adventure  —  comes  as  if  it 
were  of  yesternight  when  I  woke  and 
heard  yonder  i^gean  sea-roar.  No 
man  had  been  stancher  than  he  in 
handling  the  boat  to  ride  out  the 
gale.  He  had  taken  command  and 
his  courage  kept  us  afloat.  When 
we  saw  the  form  on  the  waters, 
every  man  clung  to  his  hold  on  the 
plunging  craft,  peering  into  the  dark 
and  harking  to  the  voice. 

Suddenly  we  heard  Simon  call 
[42] 


COMES     TO     HIS     OWN 

out  above  the  roar,  "Lord,  if  it  be 
Thou,  bid  me  come  to  Thee  upon 
the  water.*' 

We  knew  how  like  him  it  was  to 
think  of  such  a  thing;  yet  we 
watched  amazed.  Would  he  do  it 
—  would  even  he  step  out  on  those 
black  billows!  And  what  would  the 
Master  say  to  such  daring? 

Through  the  booming  dark  we 
heard  one  word  —  only  one  word. 
It  was,  "Come." 

Never  before  had  I  seen  Simon's 
erring  strength  so  bared  to  all  eyes 
as  then.  He  set  his  foot  over  the 
boat's  side  with  a  gleam  of  joy  in 
his  face.  Not  another  man  aboard 
could  have  done  it.  The  Master's 
word  was  enough  to  open  a  path  any- 
where, through  any  peril,  for  Simon. 

Therefore  was  he  our  pathfinder. 
Oh,  it  was  he  who  at  last  left  our 
Jerusalem  church  behind,  as  he  let 
go  his  hold  on  the  boat  that  night, 
and  dared  to  tread  our  Jewish  preju- 
dice, obeying  the  voice  from  heaven, 

[43] 


PETER     IN     THE     FIRELIGHT 

that  he  might  carry  the  gospel  into 
Gentile  darkness! 

Dear  is  thy  memory,  friend  of 
long  ago!  Sweet  is  it  to  recall 
thy  ever-sounding  voice  that  could 
always  say  before  any  hardship  for 
our  spirits,  "At  Thy  word  I  will," 
as  thou  didst  at  the  first.  Because 
of  thee,  John  the  aged  is  here  beside 
this  mighty  Ephesus  of  the  Gentiles 
these  many  years.  Nay,  rather,  it 
is  because  our  Master  saw  thy 
worth  when  we  were  naught  but 
fishers  on  a  lake  hid  in  the  hills. 

Long  after  the  night  of  the  storm 
we  talked  of  Simon's  adventure; 
some  even  jested  about  the  plight 
into  which  he  came;  for  in  truth 
he  made  a  spectacle  in  the  water 
which  fishermen  could  scarce  be 
expected  to  recall  without  mirth. 
But  as  days  went  on  Simon  began 
to  make  good  the  hopes  of  the  Master 
concerning  him,  and  at  length  none 
jested  any  more. 

Many  began  to  turn  away  in  the 

[44I 


COMES     TO     HIS     OWN 

days  that  followed.  I  remember 
what  sadness  was  in  our  young 
Master's  face  when  he  was  left 
alone  with  the  httle  group  which 
he  had  chosen  for  his  own.  The 
people  had  forgot  his  deeds  of  kind- 
ness; they  heeded  not  the  voice  that 
once  had  charmed  them.  We  stood 
a  band  of  silent  men.  The  Master 
was  looking  off  over  the  lake. 

"Will  ye  also  go  away?"  said  he 
at  length. 

Simon  answered,  "  Master,  to 
whom  shall  we  go?  Thou  hast  the 
words  of  eternal  life."  In  his  own 
hearty  way  he  went  on,  "And  we 
have  beheved  and  know  that  Thou 
art  the  Holy  One  of  God." 

What  cared  we  for  the  vanishing 
of  the  crowd  after  that!  Gloom 
lifted.  A  Hght  as  of  sunshine  came 
in  the  Master's  eyes.  But  even  as 
we  watched  it,  being  glad  at  the 
sight,  we  saw  it  fade  away  as  he 
said,  "Did  not  I  choose  you  the 
twelve,  and  one  of  you  is  a  devil?'* 

[45] 


•PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

"One  of  US?"  said  we;  "one  of 
us?"  It  was  the  first  mention  of 
the  horror  we  were  to  face  together, 
and  we  knew  not  what  to  make  of 
such  a  saying. 

As  days  went  on  Judas  carried 
the  bag;  he  was  the  only  man  among 
us  from  Judea,  and  we  Galileans 
committed  to  him  the  common  store 
to  provide  for  us  all,  because  he 
seemed  a  man  to  be  trusted  by 
reason  of  his  steadfast  ways.  But 
Simon  it  was,  Simon  whose  faults 
were  open  to  all  eyes,  who  continued 
to  draw  from  the  treasury  of  our 
common  devotion  and  utter  the 
words  that  gladdened  all  hearts. 

Little  did  we  think  that  a  night 
was  coming  when  we  should  see 
these  two  men  fall  together  —  fall 
in  the  light  of  torches  and  a  watch- 
fire! 

Soon  a  day  of  triumph  came  for 
Simon,  and  the  Master  rejoiced  in 
him  as  never  before.  We  had  been 
journeying    until    every    man    was 

[46] 


COMES     TO     HIS     OWN 

weary,  going  into  the  hills  of  the 
north;  for  the  Master  was  so  bur- 
dened in  spirit  that  he  was  with- 
drawing himself  from  the  cities  of 
Galilee.  At  last  he  stopped  to  rest 
and  we  gathered  round  him. 

"Who  do  men  say  that  I  am?" 
he  asked. 

We  told  him  how,  when  the  peo- 
ple were  thronging  us,  we  had  heard 
them  say  that  he  was  Elijah  or  one 
of  the  great  prophets.  Then  his 
countenance  brightened  as  with  fond 
expectancy. 

"But  who  say  ye  that  I  am?" 
he  said,  barkening  for  our  answer. 

It  was  Simon's  voice  that  broke 
the  silence.  "Thou  art  the  Christ, 
the  Son  of  the  living  God!"  said  he. 
There  was  something  wondrously 
stirring  in  the  way  he  spoke  it.  His 
voice  was  joyous  and  unafraid;  his 
head  was  upraised  as  when  a  man's 
soul  awakes;  and  the  simple  words 
seemed  to  thrill  with  secret  melody 
like  a  song  that  lingers  in  men's  hearts. 

[47] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

Never  can  I  forget  the  radiance 
we  saw  then  in  Jesus'  face.  '  *  Blessed 
art  thou,  Simon,  son  of  Jonas!"  he 
cried.  Such  a  gladness  was  in  his 
voice  as  we  had  not  heard  for  many 
days.  He  seemed  to  see  his  hope 
fulfilled.  He  declared  that  flesh  and 
blood  had  not  made  this  known  to 
Simon,  but  his  own  Father  in  heaven. 
"And  I  also  say  unto  thee,"  he  went 
on  exultingly,  "that  thou  art  Peter!" 
—  a  rock,  as  at  first  he  had  declared 
he  should  be  called. 

We  had  never  seen  his  joy  so 
overflowing.  He  said  that  he  would 
build  his  church  on  the  rock  that 
was  showing  out  in  Peter,  though  he 
had  not  so  much  as  spoken  of  setting 
up  a  church  before;  and  he  declared 
that  the  powers  of  destruction  should 
not  prevail  against  it.  He  even 
promised  that  he  would  give  the 
keys  of  the  kingdom  to  Peter,  and 
in  heaven  he  would  be  trusted  to 
lock  or  unlock  its  doors  on  earth. 
The  Master's  joy  was  wonderful. 

[48] 


COMES     TO     HIS     OWN 

So  we  saw  our  Simon  come  to 
his  own.  And  we  men  of  Galilee 
were  full  of  cheer  because  of  him. 
But  I  chanced  to  look  upon  the  man 
from  Judea,  and  I  remember  that 
on  his  face  I  thought  I  saw  a  sneer. 
Yet  I  heeded  it  not  amid  the  glad- 
ness which  Simon  had  made  that 
day. 


[49I 


V 

A  Vision  Glorious 


"At  the  time  of  Jesus  heaven  was  not  shut 
nor  the  earth  grown  cold  •  The  cloud  still 
opened  above  the  Son  of  Man;  the  angels 
ascended  and  descended  upon  his  head; 
visions  of  the  kingdom  of  God  were  re- 
ported everywhere,  for  the  reason  that  man 
carried  them  in  his  hearth 

Ernest  Renan 


V 

A    VISION   GLORIOUS 

SIMON'S  heart  was  all  aglow 
because  of  the  Master's  praise. 
We  began  to  call  him  Peter, 
and  this  pleased  him  not  a  little. 
He  was  blithesome  and  resolute  as 
he  moved  among  us.  He  bore  him- 
self as  when  a  man  is  inwardly  say- 
ing, **No  more  of  this  heaviness  of 
heart!" 

But  before  long  the  Master  began 
to  talk  with  us.  He  seemed  to  have 
some  grave  matter  on  his  mind. 
At  last  we  saw  why  his  spirit  was 
burdened.  He  must  go  up  to  Jeru- 
salem, he  told  us,  and  there  he  must 
suffer  many  things  —  and  be  killed 
—  and  be  buried  —  and  rise  from 
the  dead!  The  way  he  spoke  that 
word  must  amazed  us. 

Peter  could  not  silence  his  heart's 
outcry  against  all  this.  He  took  the 
Master  aside,  and  I  heard  him  say, 

[53] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

"Never,  Master,  this  shall  never  be 
done  unto  Thee!" 

But  alas  for  Peter!  I  saw  the 
face  of  Jesus  darken;  a  look  of  pain 
was  in  his  eyes,  and  the  voice  but 
lately  so  jubilant  uttered  words  that 
hushed  even  Peter.  "Get  thee  be- 
hind me,  Satan!"  broke  from  his 
lips.  As  if  recalling  the  very  words 
spoken  in  Peter's  praise,  he  went 
on,  "Thou  art  a  stumbling  block 
unto  me"  —  still  a  rock,  but  now  a 
rock  in  the  way  —  "  for  thou  mindest 
not  the  things  of  God,  but  the  things 
of  men."  This  to  the  man  who  had 
just  spoken  what  flesh  and  blood 
had  not  made  known,  but  the  Father 
in  heaven!  So  did  the  Master's 
rebuke  quench  each  glowing  word 
of  the  blessing  as  when  a  fire  of 
coals  is  covered  with  ashes. 

A  week  went  by — a  week  of  bewil- 
derment and  sorrowful  foreboding. 
But  soon  we  saw  that  even  such  a 
rebuke  had  not  turned  the  Master 
from  loving  thoughtfulness  for  Peter. 

[54] 


A     VISION     GLORIOUS 

One  day,  when  the  people  of  the 
north  were  gathered  round  us,  he 
called  Peter  to  him  —  Peter  and 
James  and  me,  the  same  three  as 
before.     And  he  bade  us  follow  him. 

The  mountains  of  the  north  coun- 
try rose  to  snow-covered  heights 
around  us.  He  was  ever  fond  of 
hills  and  often  sought  them  when 
high  thoughts  were  upon  him  or 
the  desire  for  prayer.  So  we  fol- 
lowed him  up  the  mountain's  side, 
understanding  our  Master's  way. 
We  could  see  the  people  down  on 
the  plain  where  the  rest  of  our  band 
were  left  behind.  But  still  he  led 
us  on.  And  as  we  climbed  the 
height  a  wondrous  view  opened  be- 
fore our  eyes  in  the  sunshine. 

Northward,  ranges  of  towering 
peaks  stood  against  the  sky  like 
watchers  in  silent  majesty.  West- 
ward gleamed  the  great  sea  stretch- 
ing along  the  whole  length  of  the 
land  of  Israel;  amid  its  brightness 
we  saw  the  ships  of  other  nations 

[55] 


PETER     IN      THE      FIRELIGHT 

moving  in  far  silence.  And  out- 
lined against  the  shining  sea  rose 
the  long  ridge  of  Carmel  hallowed 
in  our  eyes  by  the  ancient  conflict 
on  its  top  between  the  gods  of  other 
nations  and  our  own  God  on  whom 
Ehjah  called.  Far  to  the  south  we 
beheld  the  hills  of  Israel,  fair  as  the 
garden  of  the  Lord  in  their  bountiful 
verdure,  stretching  away  to  the  Holy 
City,  whither  the  tribes  from  of  old 
had  gone  up  to  worship. 

In  the  near  foreground,  encircled 
by  such  manifold  grandeur,  out- 
spread the  loveliness  of  Galilee  — 
the  many-colored  plain  walled  from 
the  sea  by  long  Carmel,  the  group 
of  hills  rising  therefrom  and  holding 
Nazareth  our  Master's  home,  the 
rounded  comeliness  of  tall  Tabor 
upraised  near  them  Hke  a  guardian. 
And  a  little  way  eastward  from  the 
Nazareth  hills,  deep  among  another 
group  of  high  slopes,  we  saw  the 
waters  of  our  own  lake,  dotted 
with  fishing  boats,  radiant  with  hues 

[56] 


A     VISION     GLORIOUS 

of  the  hillsides  around,  and  flashing 
in  the  sunlight.  To  crown  all, 
Hermon  hfted  his  lustrous  height 
against  the  sky  behind  us,  mantled 
with  snow  and  beaming,  as  it  were, 
a  silent  benediction. 

In  the  still  clearness  of  the  moun- 
tainside the  Master  withdrew  even 
from  us  at  times.  He  seemed  to 
have  found  at  last  such  a  retreat 
as  his  spirit  craved,  and  gave  him- 
self over  to  meditation  and  prayer. 

So  the  day  passed,  until  the  set- 
ting sun,  hngering  on  the  skyline 
of  Carmel's  ridge,  threw  its  deeper 
radiance  on  all,  and  the  mountains, 
the  sea,  the  beauteous  land,  were 
covered  with  splendor  as  if  heaven 
were  opened.  Oh,  then  we  seemed 
to  hear  all  things  uphft  a  secret 
voice,  crying.  Glory! 

We  turned  to  look  on  the  Master. 
In  the  holiness  of  evening  time  we 
saw  him  standing  —  watching  while 
Gahlee  and  all  the  hills,  the  sea 
and  the  mountains  faded  from  sight. 

[57] 


PETER     IN      THE      FIRELIGHT 

Then  the  stars  shone  out  on  high  and 
moonlight  covered  us  on  the  height. 

At  length,  being  wearied,  our  eyes 
became  heavy  with  sleep.  Amid 
the  untroubled  gleaming,  lo,  we  saw 
the  Master's  presence  shining  with 
brightness  exceeding  pure,  above  the 
whiteness  of  Hermon's  snow  and  the 
dazzling  of  that  day's  sunlight.  And 
in  the  silence  we  heard  voices  — 
voices  of  Elijah  and  Moses,  the 
greatest  of  those  whom  we  had 
named  when  the  Master  asked  who 
the  people  thought  he  was.  And 
as  we  listened  we  heard  them  talk- 
ing —  talking  with  him  —  talking  of 
his  decease  which  he  was  to  accom- 
plish at  Jerusalem! 

When  we  were  fully  awake  we 
perceived  that  we  had  seen  a  vision, 
and  great  trembhng  came  upon  us; 
for  we  knew  that  what  the  Master 
had  said  unto  us  of  his  sufferings 
was  understood  in  heaven! 

Then  Peter,  when  he  saw  that 
he    had    withstood    the    Master    in 

[58] 


A     VISION     GLORIOUS 

matters  too  great  for  him,  lifted  his 
ever  undaunted  voice.  ''Master," 
he  cried,  "it  is  good  for  us  to  be 
here;  if  Thou  wilt,  I  will  build  three 
tabernacles!"  For  the  night  air  on 
the  mountain  was  cold. 

But  even  while  his  words  sounded 
through  the  moonlight,  a  passing 
cloud  touched  the  steep  and  over- 
shadowed us;  and  out  of  the  cloud 
we  heard  a  voice  say,  "This  is  my 
beloved  Son;  hear  ye  Him."  This 
silenced  Peter;  and  he,  too,  fell  on 
his  face,  being  sore  afraid,  as  James 
and  I  were.  When  the  cloud  had 
passed  by,  we  lifted  our  eyes  to 
look  around,  and  we  saw  no  one 
any  more  save  Jesus  only. 

While  the  moon's  soft  beaming 
covered  the  mountainside  we  slept. 
And  in  my  dreams  visions  of  sor- 
row rose  and  hovered  in  sight, 
then  passed  away  in  marvelous 
shining.  Suddenly  I  woke,  and  it 
was  morning. 

Down   to   the   ways   of  men   we 

[59] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

passed  —  down  through  the  fra- 
grances of  summer  and  the  sound  of 
the  voices  of  birds  —  down  to  the 
Master's  blessed  ministries  to  the 
afflicted,  and  the  mystery  of  his 
own  suffering.  Soon  we  started 
southward;  and  well  we  knew  that 
his  face  was  steadfastly  set  to  go 
unto  Jerusalem. 

As  we  journeyed  on  to  the  Holy 
City,  and  back  to  Galilee  once 
more,  and  then  to  Jerusalem  for 
the  last  time,  the  Master  told  us 
yet  more  of  what  awaited  him  when 
his  time  should  come.  But  even 
Peter  held  his  peace  now. 

Once  when  we  were  in  our  own 
city,  he  was  inquired  of  as  the  chief 
man  among  us  by  them  that  re- 
ceived the  Temple  tax,  and  Peter 
answered  as  with  authority.  Again, 
when  the  Master  was  talking  of 
forgiveness,  he  said,  "Lord,  how 
oft  shall  my  brother  sin  against  me 
and  I  forgive  him?  until  seven 
times?"     But    the    Master    replied, 

[60] 


A     VISION     GLORIOUS 

"Until  seventy  times  seven.'*  Still, 
for  the  most  part,  Peter  held  his 
peace,  being  perplexed. 

But  as  we  were  drawing  near  to 
Jerusalem  for  the  last  time,  he  ut- 
tered his  thoughts  once  more.  The 
Master  saw  a  rich  young  ruler  turn 
away  from  him  and  said,  "How 
hardly  shall  they  that  have  riches 
enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 
Then  Peter  said,  "Lo,  we  have  left 
our  all  to  follow  Thee."  Jesus  looked 
upon  him  with  tender  quietness  and 
answered,  "No  man  hath  left  house 
or  wife  or  brethren  or  parents  or 
children,  for  the  kingdom  of  God's 
sake,  who  shall  not  receive  manifold 
more  in  this  time  and  in  the  world  to 
come  eternal  life." 

Then  I  saw  how  like  an  open  book 
to  our  Master  was  the  heart  of 
Peter;  for  I  knew  that  he  was  think- 
ing of  his  home  by  the  lake  and  of 
the  good  Perpetua  and  her  mother 
and  the  beautiful  daughter. 


'o^ 


[6i] 


VI 

"The  Night  of  the  Court- 
yard Fire 


*'  Two  sayings  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  heat 
Like  pulses  in  the  church's  brow  and  breast; 
And  by  them  we  find  rest  in  our  unrest. 

The  first  is,  Jesus  wept,  whereon  is  prest 
Full  many  a  sobbing  face  that  drops  its  best 
And  sweetest  waters  on  the  record  sweet; 
And  one   is   where   the    Christ,    denied   and 

scorned, 
Looked  upon  Peter.     Oh,  to  render  plain, 
By  help  of  having  loved  a  little,  and  mourned. 
That  look  of  sovran  love  and  sovran  pain." 
Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 


VI 

THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  COURT- 
YARD  FIRE 

SWEET  it  is  to  recall  the  home 
in  Bethany  whither  Jesus  led 
us.  It  was  Mary  Magdalene, 
I  have  always  thought,  who  first 
brought  about  the  welcome  there 
which  gave  him  solace  at  the  last. 
The  booths  where  Magdala's  turtle 
doves  and  pigeons  were  sold  for  the 
Temple  rites  stood  on  Mount  Olivet 
near  Bethany;  and  Mary  of  all  our 
band  was  the  one  who  would  have 
acquaintance  in  such  a  household 
and  the  womanly  grace  to  make  a 
place  therein  for  him. 

Olivet's  eastward  slope,  where  the 
village  lay,  had  the  charm  of  peace 
from  the  nature  of  the  place.  Hid- 
den away  from  the  near  city  by  the 
mount  itself,  its  quiet  was  guarded 
by  the  spreading  tops  of  tall  palms, 
and  many  a  restful  nook  was  there 

[65] 


PETER     IN      THE      FIRELIGHT 

in  the  shade  of  the  low  olive  trees. 
Countless  flowers  brightened  every 
path  on  the  slopes  around  the  httle 
town.  But  naught  in  the  spell  of 
beauty  there  was  equal  to  this, 
that  through  its  sunlit  air  Bethany 
looked  off"  over  billowy  hills  and 
silent  gorges  upon  a  dreamhke  void, 
blue  tinted  and  touched  with  mys- 
tery; for  the  Dead  Sea  lies  far 
below  and  beyond  rise  the  moun- 
tains of  Moab. 

Yet  dearer  to  our  Master  than 
all  these  charms  was  that  Bethany 
home.  He  seemed  to  find  such  rest 
there  as  no  other  earthly  dwelling 
gave.  I  marveled  at  this  in  those 
days.  But  now  —  now  I  know  why 
it  was  so.  It  brought  to  mind  his 
home  in  heaven!     For  God  is  love. 

Morning  after  morning  he  went 
thence  over  Olivet  into  the  city,  but 
at  each  day's  close  we  followed  him 
out  to  Bethany  again.  I  remember 
how  the  sunset  hght  made  the  Holy 
City  gleam  as  we  looked  back  from 
[66] 


THE     COURTYARD     FIRE 

the  top  of  Olivet.  This  would  leave 
a  spell  on  my  young  spirit  that 
haunted  my  dreams  in  Bethany's  still 
nights.  I  knew  not  how  to  believe 
that  such  a  one  as  he  was  to  be 
killed  amid  that  city's  ancient  glory. 
Sometimes  I  woke;  silence  covered 
alL     And  the  stars  kept  watch ! 

Soon  a  day  came  when  we  did 
not  go  into  the  city.  We  saw  the 
Master  out  on  the  hillsides  among 
the  trees.  Oh,  the  hush  that  came 
in  our  hearts  that  day!  It  was  near 
the  time  of  the  Passover  feast  and 
singing  bands  of  pilgrims  were  going 
by.     Yet  we  lingered  in  Bethany. 

The  next  day  he  called  two  of 
us  aside.  And  one  was  Peter!  I 
was  the  other.  He  looked  upon  us 
as  if  pondering  memories.  I  saw 
him  glance  toward  Judas  ere  he 
spoke.  Then  he  bade  us  go  into 
the  city,  telling  us  that  a  man 
bearing  an  earthen  water  jar  would 
meet  us.  He  said  that  we  were  to 
follow  him  into  the  house  he  entered. 

[671 


PETER     IN     THE     FIRELIGHT 

'*And  ye  shall  say  unto  the  good 
man  of  the  house,"  he  went  on, 
"The  Master  saith  unto  thee,  Where 
is  the  guest  chamber  where  I  shall 
eat  the  Passover  with  my  disciples?" 
We  saw  that  he  was  sending  us  to 
a  secret  friend  who  would  under- 
stand; and  Peter  turned  glad  eyes 
toward  me,  pleased  that  we  were 
trusted  in  such  a  matter. 

"He  will  show  you  a  large  upper 
room  furnished;  there  make  ready," 
were  his  parting  words. 

Then  we  two  set  off  over  Olivet; 
and  Peter,  being  older,  could  scarce 
keep  pace  with  my  lithe  steps.  But 
I  remember  that  as  we  talked  on 
the  way  his  love  and  grief  poured 
forth  in  fuller  flow  than  mine,  while 
he  rejoiced  that  the  Master  con- 
fided in  him  still. 

Stay,  memories  of  all  that  fol- 
lowed! Cease  your  sorrowful  sur- 
ging! My  words  must  be  only  of 
Peter  now. 

When    evening    time    came    and 
[68] 


THE     COURTYARD     FIRE 

we  were  all  gathered  in  the  upper 
room,  he  and  I  reclined  next  to  the 
Master.  By  and  by  we  heard  him 
sighing,  "One  of  you  shall  betray 
me!"  All  around  the  table  one 
man  after  another  asked  in  astonish- 
ment," Is  it  I,  Master?" 

I  saw  quick  wrath  in  Peter*s  face. 
He  nodded  and  signed  earnestly  for 
me  to  learn  who  it  was  that  should 
do  such  a  deed;  for  I  was  nearest 
and  the  Master  was  always  strangely 
gentle  toward  me.  I  thought  then, 
and  often  through  the  years  it  has 
broken  in  on  my  musing  of  that 
night  in  the  upper  room,  that  Peter 
would  have  throttled  the  traitor  for 
love  of  the  Master  if  he  had  been 
made  known. 

Then  it  was  that  my  head  was 
leaned  against  that  pulsing  Breast! 
And  to  me  only,  in  words  scarce 
more  than  breathed,  he  said,  "He 
it  is  for  whom  I  dip  the  sop  and  give 
it  to  him." 

Saviour,  I  held  my  peace,  keeping 

[69] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

Thy  guard  of  mercy,  when  I  saw 
Thee  reach  Thy  hand  to  the  dish 
and  give  the  sop  to  Judas!  I  did 
not  betray  Thee  by  so  much  as  a 
glance  at  Peter!  And  none  knew 
who  it  was  when  Judas  went  out 
into  the  night. 

How  swiftly  passed  the  hours  — 
how  hushed  that  upper  room!  The 
lamps  flared  in  the  breeze  blowing 
in  from  the  outer  dark,  while  one 
dear  voice  sounded  on.  Once  the 
Master  ceased  speaking,  and  girding 
himself  with  a  towel,  he  went  around 
our  circle  giving  us  the  ancient 
token  of  hospitality  —  washing  our 
feet  with  gentle  hands.  And  he 
admonished  us  that  we  were  to  be 
like  him  and  serve  one  another  with 
lowly  spirits. 

But  Peter  could  not  restrain  his 
tender  grieving.  "Never,  never!" 
said  he,  drawing  his  feet  away  when 
the  Master  came  to  him.  But  soon, 
after  calm  words  from  Jesus,  he 
exclaimed,    "Master,    not    my    feet 

[70] 


THE     COURTYARD     FIRE 

only,  but  my  hands  and  my  head!" 
And  the  sad  face  brightened  at 
Peter's  sudden  eagerness. 

So  ft  was  time  and  again  while  the 
night  wore  away.  Peter  was  ever- 
more so  headlong  yet  whole-hearted. 
At  length,  when  the  Master  had  been 
talking  long,  as  if  seeking  to  give  us 
all  that  was  in  his  heart  and  knowing 
that  the  hour  of  parting  was  near,  he 
paused.  "Simon,"  said  he  —  for  he 
called  him  by  the  old  name  to  the  last 
—  "Simon,  behold  Satan  asked  to 
have  you,  my  followers,  that  he 
might  sift  you  as  wheat;  but  I  have 
made  supplication  for  thee,  Simon, 
that  thy  faith  fail  not."  Then  while 
all  harkened,  wondering  at  his  warn- 
ing voice,  he  said,  "And  do  thou, 
when  once  thou  hast  turned  again, 
stablish  thy  brethren." 

We  knew  from  his  tone  that  some 
dread  experience  was  ahead  for  Peter. 
It  was  pitiful  to  watch  him.  He 
upraised  himself  with  a  look  of  dis- 
may.   He  declared  that  he  would  go 

[71] 


PETER     IN     THE     FIRELIGHT 

anywhere  with  the  Master.  "Why 
can  not  I  follow  Thee  now?"  he 
asked,  perplexed  and  impatient,  "I 
will  lay  down  my  life  for  Thee." 

Jesus  looked  upon  him  fondly, 
yet  with  a  kindling  in  his  eyes  that 
hushed  all  voices.  "Wilt  thou  lay 
down  thy  life  for  me?"  he  answered. 
Then  he  called  him  by  the  new  name 
—  it  was  the  only  time  we  ever 
heard  him  do  that  —  and  said,  **  I 
say  unto  thee,  Peter,  the  cock  shall 
not  crow  this  day  until  thou  shalt 
thrice  deny  that  thou  knowest  me." 

How  I  grieved  for  Peter  then  I 
I  could  not  believe  that  he  would 
do  it,  the  man  whose  love  was  like 
a  bright  flame  —  could  not  believe 
that  his  waywardness  would  come 
to  that,  though  the  Master  spoke 
the  words.  But  he  knew  what  was 
in  man  —  knew  Peter  better  than  I. 

Peter,  silent  and  anguished,  could 
not  be  still.  Once  he  arose  and 
for  a  time  stood  by  an  open  case- 
ment gazing  into  the  dark.     Then  he 

[72] 


THE     COURTYARD     FIRE 

came  back  to  our  group  and  stood 
listening. 

It  was  then  that  Jesus  spoke 
those  words  beginning,  **Let  not 
your  heart  be  troubled."  I  marvel 
not  that  the  brethren  hold  them  ex- 
ceeding precious.  But  if  they  would 
find  their  inmost  beauty,  they  must 
remember  Peter!  Would  they  see 
the  mark  giving  token  of  his  share 
in  those  words?  I  who  remember 
when  they  were  uttered  give  it  for 
all  troubled  hearts. 

Only  a  little  before  Peter  had 
asked,  "Lord,  whither  goest  Thou?" 
See  how  the  Master  was  mindful  of 
the  breaking  heart  when  he  went 
on,  "In  my  Father's  house  are  many 
mansions;  if  it  were  not  so  I  would 
have  told  you;  Jor  I  go  to  prepare 
a  place  Jor  you.  And  if  I  go  and 
prepare  a  place  for  you,  I  come  again 
and  will  receive  you  unto  myself, 
that  where  I  am,  there  ye  may  be 
also."  He  was  answering  Peter's 
question!     And  having  uttered  that 

[73] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

golden  promise,  to  make  sure  that 
it  found  even  Peter's  grieving  breast, 
he  repeated  the  very  words  of  his 
question.  "And  whither  I  go,"  said 
he,  *'ye  know  the  way." 

So  he  showed  his  lovingkindness 
while  the  night  hours  hushed  the 
noises  of  the  city  and  his  voice 
stilled  our  hearts. 

Peter  did  not  join  his  voice  with 
ours  when  at  last  we  sang  the  an- 
cient hymn  of  parting.  But  when 
we  passed  out  into  the  night,  I  saw 
him  grasp  one  of  the  two  swords 
which  we  Galileans  were  still  wont 
to  carry.  And  he  gave  me  a  look 
that  seemed  to  recall  old  times  to- 
gether, as  if  he  would  say,  "It  shall 
not  be,  John!  I  will  fight  to  the 
death!" 

Silently  we  made  our  way  through 
the  city  and  down  the  hill  below  the 
Temple  wall.  Silently  we  crossed 
the  bridge  where  the  little  Kidron's 
bed  lay  deep  in  the  valley.  Olivet 
rose   before   us,    and    Bethany   was 

[74] 


THE     COURTYARD     FIRE 

in  the  stillness  beyond.  Would  the 
Master  return  thither? 

There  was  a  garden  at  the  foot 
of  Olivet  —  a  garden  where  we  had 
often  stopped  as  we  followed  that 
road  with  him;  and  he  led  us 
therein.  Moonlight  shone  on  all 
around  and  he  seemed  to  covet 
shelter  from  its  shining. 

In  the  shadow  of  the  trees  he 
stopped.  Then  he  beckoned  to 
Peter  —  yes,  to  Peter!  —  and  to 
James  and  me,  the  same  three  as 
oft  before.  We  followed  him  apart 
from  the  others. 

"Watch  with  me,"  he  said.  Then 
he  went  a  httle  way  even  from  us, 
and  we  saw  him  fall  to  the  ground. 
We  heard  his  voice  —  he  was  pray- 
ing! 

So  worn  were  we,  so  long  did  he 
linger,  that  sleep  overcame  us.  We 
were  awakened  at  length  by  his 
return,  and  we  heard  him  saying, 
"Simon,  couldest  thou  not  watch 
with  me  one  hour?"     Tenderly  he 

[75] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

bade  us  watch  and  pray  lest  we 
fall  into  temptation.  "The  spirit  is 
wilhng,"  said  he,  "but  the  flesh  is 
weak."  Never  was  compassion  Hke 
his! 

At  last  he  came  to  us  once  more 
and  roused  us  with  the  words, 
"Arise,  let  us  be  going;  behold, 
he  that  betrayeth  me  is  at  hand." 
Springing  up  we  looked  around. 
There  was  a  light  glimmering  through 
the  trees  —  a  band  of  men  with 
torches  had  entered  the  garden. 
They  came  toward  us.  And  we 
saw  Judas  leading  them  I 

When  they  had  come  near,  the 
Master  faced  them,  talking  calmly 
unto  them.  They  waited,  standing 
in  sudden  awe.  Then  Judas  stepped 
forth.  "Hail,  Rabbi!"  said  he. 
And  he  kissed  the  Master. 

While  Jesus  spoke  —  oh,  how 
gentle  was  his  voice!  —  suddenly 
a  sword  flashed  in  the  torchlight. 
I  saw  Peter  leap  forward,  his  strong 
arm   waving   the   sword   above   the 

[761 


THE     COURTYARD     FIRE 

crowd,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  fury  — 
saw  him  strike  with  all  his  might. 
What  cared  he  for  the  rush  of 
numbers  which  would  surely  crush 
him  in  a  moment!  He  was  ready  to 
die  with  the  Master,  as  he  had  said. 
And  he  would  show  it.  He  was 
Simon  Peter  to  the  death! 

And  Judas  —  ah,  he  crouched  in 
the  crowd,  and  Peter's  blow  fell  on 
a  servant  of  the  High  Priest. 

Often  have  I  wondered  in  the 
years  since  then  what  might  have 
come  to  pass  but  for  the  calm  and 
the  power  of  Jesus.  Perchance,  be- 
cause of  Peter,  our  gospel's  highest 
reach  of  beauty,  its  mystery  of 
blessing  in  the  story  of  the  Cross, 
would  have  vanished  in  a  midnight 
rush  of  angered  soldiers!  But  Jesus 
spoke;  with  his  hfted  hand  he  stilled 
the  outcry  and  mastered  all.  Sternly 
he  commanded  Peter  to  put  up  his 
sword.  "All  they  that  take  the 
sword  shall  perish  with  the  sword," 
said  he.    While  we  stood  amazed  at 

[77] 


PETER     IN      THE      FIRELIGHT 

his  power,  in  the  silence  all  heard 
him  say,  "Thinkest  thou  that  I 
cannot  beseech  my  Father,  and  He 
shall  even  now  send  me  twelve 
legions  of  angels?" — a  legion  for 
every  man  of  our  group,  counting 
himself  with  us. 

While  Peter  dropped  his  puny 
sword  into  its  scabbard,  Jesus  said 
to  him,  "The  cup  which  the  Father 
hath  given  me,  shall  I  not  drink  it?" 

Then  the  band  bound  him  and 
led  him  away.  Back  across  the 
bridge  they  took  him,  back  up  the 
hillside  road  and  into  the  city.  We 
fishermen  from  Galilee — they  left  us 
scattered  in  the  valley. 

In  the  moonlight  I  saw  the  smoking 
torches  flaming  over  the  crowd  and 
him  as  they  passed  w^ithin  the  walls. 
That  sight  was  too  much  for  me. 
I  ran  up  the  steep  road  and  followed 
them.  When  I  saw  them  entering 
the  doorway  leading  to  the  court- 
yard of  the  High  Priest's  palace,  I 
even  followed  them  therem. 

[78] 


THE      COURTYARD      FIRE 

Before  long,  in  the  dark  outside 
the  door,  I  saw  Peter.  I  well  knew 
what  reason  he  had  for  staying 
outside.  Had  he  not  set  all  the 
servants  of  that  very  place  in  a  rage 
against  him  by  attacking  one  of 
their  number?  But  having  acquaint- 
ance there,  since  I  was  myself  of 
the  priestly  kin,  I  spoke  to  the 
portress  and  brought  in  Peter. 

But  she  —  ah,  naught  that  I  could 
say  silenced  her  tongue!  Peter  be- 
came wrathful  and  wary.  He  would 
not  go  with  me  where  they  were 
questioning  Jesus  within  the  house. 

A  fire  of  coals  had  been  kindled 
in  the  open  court,  for  the  spring 
night  was  cold;  and  Peter  would 
do  naught  else  but  stop  and  stay 
in  the  group  of  serving  people  and 
soldiers  gathered  there.  So  he  stood 
warming  himself.  I  saw  his  bearded 
face  lit  up  by  the  fire's  hght  —  saw 
his  sinewy  hands  spread  in  its  red 
glow. 

That  scene,  that  picture  in  fire- 

[79] 


PETER     IN      THE      FIRELIGHT 

light,  is  one  of  the  saddest  in  my 
memory  —  the  rugged  fisherman 
who  all  his  life  had  cared  nothing 
for  cold  or  wet,  the  hardiest  man 
among  us,  hovering  over  a  little 
fire  and  shivering!  I  knew  well 
what  it  meant,  knew  why  the  poor 
fellow  was  cold.  It  was  not  fear; 
he  was  the  bravest  of  men.  When 
the  chill  of  despair  is  in  the  heart, 
the  strongest  warm  themselves  in 
vain. 

Why  should  the  Master's  bright 
life  go  out  in  death?  Peter's  man- 
hood cried  out  against  that  mys- 
tery. His  was  the  folly  of  many  a 
man  since  then;  for  the  cross  is 
oftentimes  foolishness  and  a  stum- 
bling block  to  the  strong  unto  this 
day,  as  our  brother  Paul  has  de- 
clared. No;  Peter  was  the  last  man 
to  be  afraid. 

I  heard  the  taunting  voice  of  the 
door  maid  cry  out,  **This  man  was 
also  with  him."  I  saw  her  point  at 
Peter  —  saw  the  leering  eyes  of  the 

[80] 


THE      COURTYARD     FIRE 

men  around  the  fire  turned  upon 
him.  He  rubbed  his  rough  hands 
together  over  the  embers,  as  if  he 
were  perishing  with  cold;  and  I 
heard  him  say  in  a  low  voice, 
**  Woman,  I  know  not  the  man.*' 

Ah,  it  was  half  true!  He  felt 
that,  in  truth,  he  did  not  know  the 
Master,  did  not  understand  why  such 
a  one  as  he  would  give  himself  up 
to  die.  Peter  was  ever  fond  of 
suiting  words  to  his  thoughts,  and 
then,  as  I  often  heard  him  do,  he 
said  what  he  felt  —  "I  know  not 
the  man."  All  that  followed  began 
in  the  bewilderment  of  love  and  the 
self-will  of  strength.  I  knew  Peter 
well! 

Soon  I  saw  him  leave  the  fire  and 
walk  toward  the  doorway.  He 
seemed  unable  to  endure  the  agony 
of  being  there,  and  I  thought  he 
was  departing. 

Then  I  heard  another  maid  ser- 
vant call,  "This  man  also  was  with 
the  Nazarene!"  and  I  saw  Peter 
[8i] 


PETER     IN      THE      FIRELIGHT 

turn.  He  was  ever  quickly  nettled 
by  a  woman's  tongue,  and  I  heard 
him  utter  an  oath  which  we  used 
to  hear  among  the  fishermen.  Then 
his  former  words  came  out  once 
more,  "  I  know  not  the  man."  Hear- 
ing the  men  around  the  fire  rail  at 
him,  being  set  on  by  the  women, 
he  strode  back  and  stood  in  the 
light  of  the  fire  cursing  them  in 
unfearing  rage. 

They  were  treating  the  Master 
shamefully  within;  but  I  grieved 
more  for  what  I  saw  and  heard  out 
in  the  courtyard  than  for  all  that 
his  foes  did.  For  the  noblest  friend 
of  Jesus  had  broken  down  there 
and  was  denying  him  now  outright! 

I  heard  the  soldiers  crying  merrily 
that  Peter's  speech  betrayed  him 
for  a  GaHIean.  They  hked  nothing 
better  than  to  hector  men  of  our 
country.  I  recalled  how  I  had  heard 
Peter  bandy  words  with  them  when 
our  boats  lay  off  their  fortresses 
by  the  lake.     And  this  he  did  with- 

[82] 


THE      COURTYARD     FIRE 

out  flinching  even  around  the  court 
fire.  So  a  terrible  hour  went  by; 
and  all  the  while  they  were  heaping 
reproach  on  the  Master  within,  and 
Peter  stood  in  the  hght  of  the  fire 
warming  himself. 

At  last  a  kinsman  of  the  servant 
whom  he  struck  with  his  sword  came 
and  said  before  them  all,  "Did  not 
I  see  thee  in  the  garden?"  But 
Peter,  being  undone,  even  denied 
what  every  man  around  him  knew 
to  be  true.  Soldiers  and  servants 
raised  a  wild  burst  of  raillery  at 
that.  And  when  their  uproar  ceased, 
through  the  dark  a  cock's  crowing 
sounded  over  the  housetops. 

I  saw  the  Master  turn  and  look 
upon  Peter.  And  he,  hearing  the 
sound,  remembered;  and  quickly 
he  turned  toward  the  place  where 
Jesus  stood  among  his  foes.  The 
sight  of  the  Master's  pallid  face 
and  gazing  eyes  broke  Peter's  heart. 
His  head  dropped  for  shame.  I 
saw   tears   glistening   on    his   beard 

[83] 


PETER     IN      THE      FIRELIGHT 

In  the  firelight.  He  turned  away, 
and,  staggering  like  a  drunken  man, 
he  disappeared  in  the  dark  outside 
the  courtyard  door. 


[84] 


VII 

The  Fire  on  the  Beach 


*^  And  so  we  take  our  leave  of  thee,  thou  gener- 
ous, impulsive,  wayward,  impetuous^ 
yet  true-hearted  man  of  God  •  We  have 
come  to  know  ourselves  better  through 
our  acquaintance  with  thee,  and  even 
thy  backsliding  has  shown  us  new  depths 
of  mercy  in  the  heart  of  Christ  •  So, 
being  converted,  thou  hast  strengthened 
thy  brethren,  and  we  glorify  God  in 
thee.'' 

William  M.  Taylor 


VII 

THE   FIRE   ON    THE   BEACH 

WHEN  at  last  our  Master 
lay  in  the  tomb  and  even- 
ing was  darkening  to  an- 
other night,  a  longing  seized  me  to 
find  Peter. 

It  seemed  like  a  dire  dream,  haunt- 
ing that  day  of  horrors  and  starting 
fresh  anguish  at  its  close  —  that 
such  a  man  as  he,  my  friend  from 
youth  up,  had  gone  down  in  wreck 
as  I  saw  him  the  night  before,  and 
now  was  grieving  his  heart  away 
somewhere  in  Jerusalem  as  the  dark- 
ness gathered  once  more. 

I  did  what  I  could  to  comfort 
the  mother  whom  her  Son  had  com- 
mitted unto  my  care,  and  the  trust 
was  precious.  But  all  the  while  my 
thoughts  were  of  Peter.  For  the 
Master's  sufferings  were  ended,  and 
the  blessed  Mary  had  the  balm  of 
heaven's  peace;  but  Peter  was  living 

[87] 


PETER     IN      THE      FIRELIGHT 

Still!  And  I  knew  that  hell's  tor- 
ture was  upon  him.  What  is  any 
grief  to  the  pangs  of  a  noble  breast 
when  its  love  is  wrecked  by  its  own 
falseness! 

At  length  Mary  slept.  Then  I 
stole  out  into  the  city's  streets. 
Perchance  I   might  find  Peter. 

Only  the  night  before,  through 
those  same  ways  our  little  band  of 
men  from  Galilee  had  followed  the 
Master.  Peter  was  with  us  then, 
his  sword  rattling  as  he  strode,  his 
bearing  how  brave!  All  were 
scattered  now,  I  knew  not  where. 
Jesus  was  in  his  grave.  And  Peter 
— where  was  he? 

I  came  to  a  pillar  of  stone  at  a 
street's  turning,  the  very  one  beside 
which  I  saw  him  stop  to  tighten  his 
sword  belt.  My  heart  was  nigh  to 
bursting  as  I  stood  there,  laying  my 
hands  on  the  waymark  and  thinking 
of  the  vanished  band  and  the  Master 
we  loved  —  and  Peter.  I  tried  to 
pray.  Looking  heavenward,  I  saw 
[88] 


THE      FIRE      ON      THE      BEACH 

the  Stars  above  the  city's  darkness 
ghstening  through  my  tears. 

The  Sabbath  morning  covered 
Jerusalem  with  serene  radiance;  and 
the  light  I  saw  in  the  holy  mother's 
eyes  was  as  when  shadows  flee  away. 
For  heaven  was  open  unto  her  sweet 
breast. 

When  the  gates  were  unbarred  I 
went  outside  the  city  walls.  The 
crosses  were  still  standing  on  the 
little  hill,  and  I  was  fain  to  linger 
there.  Oh,  could  it  be  that  such  a 
scene  in  the  light  of  Israel's  Sabbath 
was  the  end  of  it  all  —  all  the  joys, 
all  the  hopes  we  had  known  with 
Jesus! 

But  not  alone  because  of  the 
wooing  awe  of  that  sight  did  I 
linger.  Knowing  Peter  as  I  did, 
my  heart  kept  saying,  "He  will  be 
sure  to  come  hither  also." 

I  saw  a  group  of  priests  and 
Pharisees  with  a  band  of  soldiers 
come  out  at  the  gate  by  the  Temple. 
They    hastened    past    the    mound 

[89] 


PETER     IN     THE     FIRELIGHT 

whereon  were  the  crosses,  pointing 
and  talking  as  they  went  —  hastened 
on  to  the  garden  below  its  slope. 
I  saw  them  put  a  seal  upon  the  stone 
rolled  against  the  door  of  our 
Master's  tomb.  Then  they  set  a 
watch  of  soldiers,  and  the  priests 
and  Pharisees  in  their  sacred  robes 
hurried  back  into  the  city. 

Before  long,  as  I  looked  round 
about,  I  saw  a  man  standing  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wall.  At  times  he 
fixed  his  gaze  on  the  crosses,  but 
again  and  again  he  turned  away. 
I  knew  that  it  was  Peter! 

When  he  heard  my  footsteps  and 
perceived  that  it  was  I,  he  started 
up  and  hastened  to  depart.  But  I 
ran  and  threw  my  arms  about  him; 
and  being  dumb  with  grief,  I  clung 
to  him  and  kissed  him.  His  sobs 
and  trembling  shook  me  while  he 
hid  his  face. 

At  length  I  tried  to  speak.  I 
uttered  his  name  —  but  ah,  I  knew 
not  what  to  say!     To   condone  sin 

[901 


THE      FIRE      ON      THE      BEACH 

there,  beside  that  hill,  was  impos- 
sible. 

By  and  by  he  lifted  his  face  and 
gazed  at  the  Cross.  And  then — he 
began  to  move  toward  it.  I  kept  my 
arms  around  him,  but  I  spoke  not. 
Up  the  little  hill  we  went;  and  when 
we  came  to  its  top,  Peter  fell  on  his 
face  before  the  Cross. 

We  spent  that  Sabbath  day  to- 
gether. Sacred  were  our  com- 
munings through  its  hours.  I  re- 
member how,  as  we  recalled  many 
a  memory  and  talked  of  our  Master's 
way  with  us,  I  told  what  John  said 
of  him  who  should  come,  before  we 
saw  him  the  first  time  by  the  Jordan. 
"John  told  us,"  said  I,  "that  he 
would  gather  his  wheat  into  the 
garner,  and  the  chaff  he  would  burn 
with  unquenchable  fire." 

Peter  startled  and  lifted  his  head 
with  the  old-time  eagerness.  "Did 
he  say  that?"  he  exclaimed.  Then, 
musing  for  a  time,  he  murmured, 
"Say  that  again." 

[91] 


PETER     IN      THE     FIRELIGHT 

**And  Peter,"  I  went  on,  "I 
thought  of  those  words  when  the 
Master  told  you  that  Satan  had 
asked  to  have  us.  Did  he  not  say, 
'That  he  might  sift  you  as  wheat'? 
Though  the  chaff  be  burned  with 
fire,  the  wheat  —  the  wheat,  Peter 
—  the  Master  would  gather  into 
the  garner!  He  saw  the  wheat  that 
would  remain,  for  he  bade  you, 
when  once  you  had  turned  again, 
to  stablish  your  brethren.'* 

"The  wheat!"  said  Peter,  ponder- 
ing. 

So  the  Sabbath  went  by. 

Early  the  next  morning,  while  it 
was  yet  dark,  Peter  and  I  were 
aroused  by  a  woman's  voice  calling 
our  names  without.  It  was  Mary 
Magdalene.  She  was  breathless 
with  running.  "They  have  taken 
away  the  Lord  out  of  the  tomb, 
and  we  know  not  where  they  have 
laid  him!"  she  cried  with  quivering 
lips.  Her  face  was  ashen  white; 
her   bountiful    bLick    hair   manthng 

[92] 


THE      FIRE      ON      THE      BEACH 

her  shoulders  revealed  her  womanly 
despair. 

We  ran  both  together,  and  I, 
being  the  younger,  outran  Peter; 
but  he  it  was  who  first  made  bold 
to  enter  the  tomb.  So  began  that 
day  of  glad  surprise.  Day  of  what 
blessed  mystery,  what  unspeakable 

ml 

When  the  evening  had  come  ten 
of  our  band  gathered,  the  doors 
being  shut  for  fear  of  the  Jews. 
Hearts  beat  fast  as  one  report  after 
another  was  told,  how  certain  of  our 
company  had  seen  the  Master  alive 
again.  But  no  tale  of  Joy  gave  such 
delight  as  when  Peter  stood  among 
us  and  declared  that  he,  too,  had 
been  with  him.  That  he  should 
find  Peter,  after  that  scene  by  the 
fire  three  nights  before  —  this  was 
the  surest  token  that  it  was  the 
Master  indeed.  Who  but  Jesus 
would  keep  Peter  in  loving  remem- 
brance after  such  shame! 

When  two  men  came  hurrying  in 

[93] 


PETER     IN     THE     FIRELIGHT 

and  told  how  he  had  walked  with 
them  on  the  Emmaus  road  and  was 
known  in  the  breaking  of  bread, 
"The  Lord  is  risen  indeed,"  we 
answered,  **and  hath  appeared  unto 
Simon."  This  was  the  crowning 
wonder  of  all  that  came  to  our  ears. 
For  what  token  that  Jesus  who  was 
dead  is  alive  forevermore  can  equal 
the  mercies  he  shows  to  sinning 
men  who  suffer,  being  penitent! 

Before  we  parted  that  night  he 
came  and  stood  in  our  midst.  But 
we  were  affrighted,  supposing  that 
we  saw  a  spirit.  ''Peace  be  unto 
you,"  he  said,  and  he  sought  to  give 
us  proof  that  it  was  he  himself. 

All  through  the  week  that  fol- 
lowed we  talked  of  him;  and  some 
disbeheved,  so  hard  was  it  for  us  to 
realize  that  our  Master  was  not  dead 
but  living  and  making  himself  known 
unto  us !  And  when  it  was  once  more 
the  first  day  of  the  week,  again  he 
stood  among  us,  showing  his  wounded 
hands  and  feet  as  before. 
[94] 


THE      FIRE      ON      THE      BEACH 

But  the  Lord  had  a  yet  more 
blessed  token  in  store  for  us.  In 
the  night  of  the  upper  room  he  had 
told  us  that  after  he  was  raised  up 
he  would  go  before  us  into  Galilee. 
In  our  bewilderment  we  did  not  see 
the  sweet  meaning  of  that  saying. 
But  the  women  who  saw  the  angel 
at  the  tomb  heard  him  say,  "Lo,  he 
goeth  before  you  into  Galilee";  and 
when  they  met  the  Lord  himself  in 
the  way,  he,  too,  said  unto  them, 
"Go  tell  my  brethren  that  they 
depart  into  Galilee."  Then  we  be- 
gan to  understand!  But  it  was  long 
afterward  that  I  saw  the  full  beauty 
of  this  thrice  repeated  message.  Not 
only  in  Jerusalem  and  on  the  Lord's 
Day  when  we  were  gathered  to- 
gether would  he  be  known  unto  us; 
but  the  chief  grace  of  our  risen 
Master  was  to  make  himself  known 
also  in  common  life,  amidst  week- 
day scenes,  in  places  of  toil  —  yes, 
in  Galilee! 

When  at  last  this  message  found 

[9.'] 


PETER     IN      THE      FIRELIGHT 

our  hearts  through  the  words  of  the 
women,  Peter  could  not  restrain  his 
eagerness  to  set  off  for  the  lake. 
Seven  hurrying  men  were  we,  all 
through  the  hills  and  valleys  on  the 
way  thither. 

Perpetua  received  us  into  her  home 
with  a  wife's  joy.  Her  goodness 
comforted  Peter,  and  her  kind  silence 
before  us  about  his  fall  was  like  a 
refuge  for  him.  Yet  I  saw  that  his 
heart  was  restless  still. 

One  day  he  said,  *'I  go  a  fishing." 
We  knew  how  it  would  ease  his 
troubled  thoughts  to  get  back  to 
the  nets  and  hear  the  water  rip- 
pling round  the  boat  as  of  old; 
besides  that,  a  good  catch  would 
provide  food  for  us.  '*  We  also  come 
with  thee,"  said  we  all. 

But  though  we  stayed  on  the  lake 
all  night,  we  took  nothing.  Peter  was 
restless  still  and  could  not  steady  his 
mind  and  be  quiet  as  a  fisherman  has 
need  of  doing,  and  the  nets  were  ill 
handled  so  that  we  missed  our  cast 

[96] 


THE      FIRE      ON      THE      BEACH 

time  and  again.  And  withal  the  run 
of  fish  was  not  good. 

At  last  day  was  now  breaking. 
Our  boat  lay  inshore  and  we  were 
out  of  heart.  Oh,  then  came  a  glad 
surprise! 

In  the  dim  light  we  saw  a  form 
standing  on  the  beach.  We  knew 
not  who  it  was;  but  we  heard  a 
voice  call  out,  "Lads,  have  ye  aught 
to  eat?"  When  we  had  answered, 
**No,"  the  voice  rephed,  "Cast  the 
net  on  the  right  side  of  the  boat, 
and  ye  shall  find."  When  we  had 
so  done  we  were  not  able  to  draw 
it  for  the  multitude  of  fishes. 

While  Peter  was  tugging  at  the  net 
my  heart  leaped  in  my  breast  with 
sudden  joy.  "  Peter,  it  is  the  Lord ! " 
said  I .  He  raised  himself  and  peered 
shoreward  a  moment.  Then,  seizing 
his  coat  —  for  he  was  bared  as  was  his 
wont,  caring  naught  for  cold  now — he 
leaped  into  the  water  and  made  for 
the  beach.  The  rest  of  us  came  in  the 
little  boat,  dragging  the  net. 

[97] 


PETER     IN     THE      FIRELIGHT 

There  was  a  fire  of  coals  on  the 
white  pebbles,  and  as  it  burned  up 
we  saw  the  beach  brightened  by  its 
light. 

"  Bring  of  the  fish  which  ye  have 
now  taken,"  the  dear  voice  called. 

Peter  went  and  drew  the  net 
ashore.  Quickly  we  counted  the 
catch  —  I  remember  the  number 
still  —  a  hundred  and  fifty  and 
three.  We  chose  the  best  to  pre- 
pare for  that  breakfast! 

Then  we  gathered  around  the  fire. 
Fish  already  laid  thereon  was  lading 
the  air  with  savor,  and  bread  was 
near  it  in  the  cheerful  light.  Never 
did  food  taste  so  good  as  when  we 
ate  together  then!  For  our  hearts 
were  filled  with  gladness. 

When  we  had  broken  our  fast 
the  fire's  red  glow  was  beginning  to 
pale  in  the  fight  of  dawn,  and  across 
the  lake,  over  the  Gadarene  hills, 
glimmered  the  faint  flashes  of  color 
that  herald  the  coming  sun.  Oh, 
then  we  saw  Peter  stand  once  more 

[98] 


THE      FIRE      ON      THE      BEACH 

in  firelight  —  stand  face  to  face  with 
a  love  that  would  not  let  him  go! 

"Simon,  son  of  John,"  said  the 
Master,  "lovest  thou  me  more  than 
these?" 

Peter's  bearded  countenance  was 
ruddy  with  the  fire's  shining  as  he 
looked  up.  We  all  understood  that 
now,  around  another  fire  of  coals, 
rose  the  memory  of  that  night  in 
the  courtyard. 

''Yea,  Lord,"  he  answered,  "Thou 
knowest  that  I  hold  Thee  dear." 
He  did  not  use  the  high  word  for 
love,  the  word  of  exalted  devotion 
used  in  the  Master's  question,  but 
a  lowlier  one  laden  with  human 
tenderness.  For  Peter  was  always 
given  to  choosing  words  that  matched 
his  thoughts  to  his  liking.  And  he 
said  naught  of  the  words  "  more  than 
these,"  but  looked  round  about  on 
our  listening  faces,  humbhng  himself 
at  the  memory  of  his  boast  in  the 
upper  room. 

We  heard  the  tinkle  of  a  sheep  bell 

[99] 


PETER     IN      THE      FIRELIGHT 

high  on  the  hillside  in  the  dawn's 
dimness,  and  the  calling  voice  of  the 
shepherd. 

"Feed  my  Iambs/'  said  the  low 
voice  beside  the  fire. 

Thrice  we  heard  the  question; 
thrice  Peter  answered,  using  the 
humbler  word ;  and  thrice  the  Master 
bade  him  be  a  shepherd  for  him. 
In  his  gentleness  he  even  used 
Peter's  own  word  the  third  time  he 
asked  the  question,  as  if  to  say, 
"Even  though  your  love  is  not 
perfect,  if  I  am  dear  unto  you,  go 
on  and  do  my  work,  thou  man  who 
didst  thrice  deny  me." 

Peter  bowed  his  head,  pondering 
in  the  glow  of  the  fire.  Then  the 
voice  of  our  Master  went  on,  "Verily, 
verily,  I  say  unto  thee.  When  thou 
wast  young,  thou  girdedst  thyself 
and  walkedst  whither  thou  wouldest; 
but  when  thou  shalt  be  old,  thou 
shalt  stretch  forth  thy  hands,  and 
another  shall  gird  thee,  and  carry 
thee  whither  thou  wouldest  not." 

[lOO] 


THE      FIRE      ON      THE      BEACH 

The  voice  was  mellow  with  ten- 
derness as  those  words  sounded  amid 
the  plashing  on  the  beach;  but  in 
the  Master's  face  we  saw  the  look 
which  we  were  wont  to  mark  when 
his  kingliness  awoke  to  its  holy 
might.  A  sweet  silence,  deep  as  the 
morning's  hush,  came  in  our  hearts ; 
for  we  knew  that  the  noblest  man 
among  us  was  bowing  there  by  the 
dim  coals.  I  have  never  doubted 
that  he  was  mindful  of  that  scene 
long  after  when  he  wrote  those  words, 
"Gird  yourselves  with  humility."  Ah, 
how  Hke  him  it  was  to  unveil  this 
memory  in  the  admonition,  ''Hum- 
ble yourselves  under  the  mighty  hand 
of  God,  that  he  may  exalt  you  in 
due  time." 

While  Peter's  head  was  still  bowed, 
"Follow  me,"  said  the  Master. 
Then  he  began  to  depart  from  the 
fire.  And  Peter  turned  to  follow 
him. 

But  even  as  he  turned,  he  saw 
me  doing  likewise;   and  eager  to  the 

[lOl] 


PETER      IN      THE      FIRELIGHT 

last  he  said,  ''Lord,  and  what  shall 
this  man  do?" 

''If  I  will  that  he  tarry  till  I 
come,"  came  the  gentle  reply,  "what 
is  that  to  thee?  Follow  thou  me." 
And  as  Peter  obeyed,  morning's 
glory  broke  on  the  lake  and  all  our 
hills. 

THUS  WAS  TOLD  TO  THE  END  THE 
STORY  OF  PETER  IN  THE  FIRELIGHT. 
THEN  POLYCARP  ROSE  UP,  AND  REV- 
ERENTLY KISSED  A  SHINING  GRAY 
FACE. 


[102] 


They  say  that  the  blessed  Peter,  on  seeing 
his  wife  led  to  death,  rejoiced  on  account 
of  her  summons  and  conveyance  home, 
and  called  very  encouragingly  and  com- 
fortingly, addressing  her  by  name,  Re- 
member thou  the  Lord." 

Clement  of  Alexandria 

{Second  Century) 


Date  Due 

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PRINTED 

IN   U.   S.    A. 

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Peter  in  the  firelight, 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary-Speer  Library 


1    1012  00013  4439 


